Headlines
by Simone Lyon
Summary: Neal finds a mysterious photo album at Peter's house and Peter explains the contents.  A story about Peter's past.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

Peter had gone upstairs to the bathroom, leaving Neal scouring the files for something to jump out at him. They had gotten a new case this morning, but hadn't found any leads. Elizabeth was out of town so they had agreed to take the case home and eat take out over it. Frustrated, Neal got up to get some water. When he came back, he saw a photo album set on the mantle. He frowned, having not noticed it before. And it was set there as if it wasn't its real resting place. Neal placed his glass down and opened it up. The first page was just one 4" x 6" picture. There were four teenage boys, probably sixteen to eighteen years old. They were all wearing jeans, baseball t-shirts, baseball caps and with converse high tops. It was like something right out of the movie _The Sandlot_. They were gathered around home plate, each with a glove on them somewhere.

They were squinting into the sun and smiling big, everything in the world was perfect. The caption beneath the photo read: _Paul, Andrew, Jimmy, and Peter. Summer 1978._ Neal did the math in his head and found that Peter was 15. Neal was just about to flip to the next page when he heard Peter coming downstairs. Neal shut the album and started to put it back up but he wasn't quick enough.

"Watcha doin?"

Neal sighed, because that was Peter's 'I-caught-you' voice. He turned around with the album in hand.

"I saw the album and was just curious," said Neal. "Who are those guys?"

Peter chuckled as he took the album and sat down. "Don't worry Sundance, they aren't coming after you."

He flipped open the album to the first page with the pictures of the boys. Neal drew up his chair alongside Peter's so he could see clearly.

"That's Paul, my older brother," said Peter, pointing to the first boy. Neal could see the resemblance. In the picture he was slightly taller than Peter, but he had the same chin and nose and the same build. But it was obvious that Peter was catching up to his brother in size at the time. The older boy was holding his glove in hand and stood with authority. He was clearly the leader of the four boys.

"I didn't know you had an older brother," said Neal.

Peter chuckled. "What was that line you used on me when I asked you about your dad: 'I thought you knew everything about me'?"

Neal shrugged. "Okay, I did my research on you. I looked into you, but no further back than college. I have a rule: I don't look back into people's childhoods. Most people like to keep them private and it usually doesn't pertain to anything that has to do with whatever I'm working on."

"Your con doesn't have anything to do with their childhood, you mean," said Peter.

"Exactly. So, what about Paul?"

"He was 17 years old when this picture was taken. He had just graduated from high school and his birthday was in a couple of weeks. He's a great guy. He was the best older brother. We were close and he always watched out for me and Anne."

"Anne?"

"Our younger sister. She was two years younger than me. All three of us were close."

"That's nice."

"It was. Especially because times weren't always perfect."

Neal looked at him, expecting some sort of follow up to that statement, but Peter moved onto the next boy in the photo. "That's Andrew Jennings. He was Paul's best friend. He and Paul were like giants in the outfield. Anything that went out there way was theirs." Andrew was a lanky boy and was leaning on his bat like it was a cane. He had his baseball cap turned backwards.

"Where did you grow up?"

"Cayuga Heights, right outside Ithaca and not too far from Cornell. It's built up a lot more now, but it was pretty small then." Peter pointed to the next boy. "That's Jimmy Levi. He was pretty much my best friend and the best short stop I ever knew." Jimmy had longer blonde hair and had the bill of his hat on inside out. He held the bat over his shoulder with his glove hanging off the end of it.

"And there's me."

Peter stood beside Jimmy, his glove on his hand and holding a ball inside of it. His hat was slightly to the side and his stance wide like he was about to throw a pitch.

"Lemme guess," said Neal. "You were a pitcher?"

"You bet," said Peter. "The four of us were on the varsity team together. I was a closer pitcher. A month before this picture was taken we had just won the state championship."

"Nice," said Neal.

"It was nice," said Peter. "It was Paul and Andrew's senior year and it couldn't have ended better. Paul and Andrew each had two homeruns in the game and had made some spectacular plays in the outfield. They both got scholarships to play at Cornell."

"Go any further than that," asked Neal.

"No," said Peter. "My brother went into the Air Force and Andrew became an engineer and still lives in Ithaca."

"So what about you," asked Neal. "I know you went to Cornell. Why didn't you play baseball there?"

"I got injured."

"Oh, sorry," said Neal softly. "Must've been a bummer. What happened?"

Peter sighed. "It's kind of a long story." He looked out over the table where they had case files spread out.

"Oh, come on, Peter," said Neal. "We've been at this case all day. We can wait to get back at it tomorrow. Tell me about it. C'mon, I spent all that night telling you about my past. You should tell me a little about yours."

Peter looked at Neal wearily. "It's not like I got hurt on the field, Neal. I…I got shot."

Neal stared at Peter. "Shot? Are you kidding me?"

Peter shook his head. "Nope. Which is kind of ironic because I've never been shot on the job."

They both knocked on the wooden table.

"So, you got shot," said Neal slowly. "What the hell happened?"

Peter didn't answer right away. "It's a long story. Might take all night."

"I'm quite okay with that."

"Fine," said Peter. He put his hand on the album. "It's all in here."

"In here?" Neal looked at the album. "What did you do, stop and take pictures of what was going on?"

"No, it's newspaper clippings," replied Peter. "The detective in charge of this case had kept all of them while he was working on it. He died a few years ago and his wife sent this to me when she heard I was in the FBI. This case made the detective's career."

Neal was staring at Peter. "You got shot when you were fifteen? You were a part of a case? Peter, you _have_ to tell me this story. There's no going back now."

"Okay," said Peter. "I'll get a beer."

"Um, grab me one too," said Neal as if it were obvious.

Peter returned with two cold beers. They popped them open and Peter turned the page.

The first newspaper clipping read: **Local Athletes Witness Drive-by Shooting.**


	2. Local Athletes Witness DriveBy Shooting

It was a perfect summer evening. The sun was just beginning to go down coloring the sky with pinks, oranges, reds, and yellows. The air was that perfect temperature with almost no humidity. There was a little breeze coming through the hills, but it was never cold, but more like a breath of fresher air. It was a perfect evening to be outside.

The four boys strolling down the middle of the street together were taking full advantage of their summer. They were dusty and sweaty from a long afternoon: first playing baseball when the sun was at its highest and then from lying about it in nearby woods catching a cold dip in the rocky streams.

The neighborhood they were in was obviously economy class but comfortable. There were still younger kids playing in the street before dark and people sitting on their porches enjoying the evening.

"Hey boys," called an older man from his porch. "Enjoying your summer?"

"Yessir," Paul called back. "Never been better."

"Well good, you boys deserved it after that helluva season," the old man replied.

"Thank you, sir," the each replied in unison. They waved and went on down the street.

Baseball was a huge sport in the area, and the boys were renowned for their championship ending season with only one loss early on.

"Man I'm starved," said Jimmy. "I could eat a farm. Where are we going anyway?"

"I dunno," murmured Peter lazily. "We're just walking."

"Well, my house I just around the corner," said Andrew. "Let's go eat there."

"You sure," asked Paul. "We don't want to eat you out."

"Aw it's no problem," replied Andrew. "Mom would be happy to have you over."

It was only Andrew and his mom at his house. He had been an only child and had never known his father who had left the family. But they were well off enough by themselves and Andrew—since he didn't know his father—really had no care of it. And his mom liked to have visitors to just fill their little house some.

They made it to the house just in time to see Andrew's mother arrive home from work. She worked as a bookkeeper for a business in downtown Ithaca. She smiled when she saw the boys.

"Mom, is it alright if they eat over," asked Andrew.

"Of course," she exclaimed. "But I'm not cooking. I was actually going to order pizza."

Well, there was nothing wrong with that to the boys. An hour later, they were lounged around in the den, inhaling pizza while watching baseball highlights. After the pizza was finished, Jimmy and Peter got into a wrestling match. Though Andrew's mother liked the boys, she didn't put up with rough-housing and told them to go outside if they were going to do that.

So they did, because Jimmy had challenged Peter and there was no way Peter was going to let it go. They ditched the pizza boxes and highlights to go to the front yard where the floodlights provided them with a scene.

Paul acted the commentator as Andrew acted the referee.

"And here's my kid brother Petey taking on the infamous Jem-Boy," called out Paul.

"All right you two," said Andrew, deepening his voice for affect. "I want a clean fight. Shake hands—" they did "—now get down—" they crouched some, ready to wrestle "—go!"

Peter and Jimmy went for each other just as the two older boys lunged at them as well. Paul and Andrew took advantage of their surprise attack and had the two younger boys startled enough to get them on the ground. But they were still strong and soon enough it was every man for himself.

Paul had Peter on his back but somehow his younger brother wriggled out from underneath him and it became a strength test, which was nearly dead even. Meanwhile, the lanky Andrew was having some difficulty—not that he would ever admit it—with the stockier Jimmy. But Andrew still had some size and it was also a pretty even match.

They were interrupted a few minutes later when Andrew's mother came out side.

"Paul, Peter, your mother called."

It was a stinger and they all stopped.

Paul and Peter got up. "Yes ma'am?"

"She says that she needs you to go down to the theater and pick up your sister."

"We're on our way," said Paul.

"Hey we'll go with you," said Jimmy. "Leastways I will. We left our bikes at the lot and I need to go pick mine up."

"Yeah I'll go too," said Andrew. "See ya Mom."

Paul, Peter, and Jimmy grabbed their gloves and started back down the sidewalk. It was only a few blocks to the lot which they made short work of because they kept racing each other down the sidewalk. They could make anything a competition. Once on their bikes, it was a bike race through the streets to the theater which was in the middle of Cayuga Heights.

But after a few blocks, the boys took to just lazily riding their bikes and talking. Peter and Jimmy were up ahead, talking about what movies they wanted to see while Paul and Andrew were behind, talking about some girls. Then, Jimmy saw a possum crossing the road on the other side of an intersection and he darted forward, about to chase it.

Peter laughed as Jimmy called out to it in a sing-song voice. He wasn't even embarrassed as two people walking across the street looked at them oddly. Peter sped up to catch up with Jimmy. Then, everything changed.

There was a sudden screeching of tires and a car, without headlights, slammed into Peter's back wheel. He was thrown off his bike and hit the pavement hard head first. Adrenaline pumping, he shook the shock away and quickly crawled out of the road and stopped on the sidewalk. Still confused, though, he turned around in time to see the car stop in front of the two pedestrians. Three shots were fired and they fell silently. Jimmy was frozen in horror in front of the car, where it had stopped just before hitting him.

Peter could see into the car. He saw the driver and looked into his eyes as he tucked away a gun. He then stared at the passenger who was looking straight at him. Peter felt the urge to run as quickly as possible, but it was as if his body was paralyzed. When the passenger spotted him, he raised a gun.

"Peter!"

Paul and Andrew were hauling ass on his bike to catch up to them. People were coming out of their houses and there were sirens in the distance. Peter barely heard the passenger in the car say: "Let's get outta here."

The driver stepped on it, hitting Jimmy off his bike and then backing up to keep from actually rolling over Jimmy. It then sped off into the night, leaving the intersection and its occupants to pick up the aftermath.

It was then that Peter's legs decided to work. He got up quickly and ran over to Jimmy, despite feeling like he was about to throw up. He stopped momentarily when he saw the two still bodies on the other side of the intersection. Then, he ran to Jimmy.

Jimmy was underneath his bike, fighting the urge to cry out.

"Just hold still," said Peter. "I'll get the bike up."

Peter carefully, as to get all the weight off evenly, picked up the bike and rolled it to the side. He knelt down beside Jimmy just as Paul and Andrew arrived. Paul grabbed Peter and turned him around.

"Shit," he said. "You've got a helluva cut there."

Peter frowned and then felt it. His forehead started to sting and he put his hand up to feel blood dripping over his eyebrow.

"Damn," he muttered. "I didn't even notice it."

Meanwhile, Andrew was taking assessment of Jimmy.

"My leg is killing me, man," said Jimmy.

"Where at," asked Andrew.

"My knee."

"I can't see anything because of your jeans," said Andrew. "Just lie still."

People were beginning to come up to the scene and they could hear sirens in the distance. A man hurried over.

"My wife called 9-1-1 as soon as we heard the shots," he said. "You boys get shot?"

"No sir, the car hit my brother and his friend," said Paul, a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Just those two people over there got shot."

He pointed to the still bodies.

"Just saw 'em," said the man. "They're as dead as doornails."

Paul swallowed while Peter lost his stomach behind him. The man patted Peter on the back. "It's all right son. You just sit down and take it easy."

Paul lowered his brother to the ground, while the man took to keeping Jimmy quiet.

"We need to call Mom and let her know that we can't pick up Anne," said Peter.

"We will," assured Paul.

Two patrol cars and an ambulance arrived on the scene. Peter found himself drifting off. He didn't notice the police clearing everyone away for the scene or the paramedics rush over to Jimmy. Paul slapped him a few times on the cheek so that he would come to when a paramedic knelt in front of him. After some shuffling around, they got Jimmy into the ambulance because they suspected that his leg was broken. Peter was loosely bandaged up and put it a patrol car with Paul and Andrew. The policeman followed the ambulance to the hospital.

At the hospital, Peter got two staples and seven stitches along his hairline. Then, they went to find Jimmy who had a cracked tibia right below his knee. They were only wrapping his leg so there would be no cast, but he was on crutches for a couple of weeks and on a lot of pain killers.

Jimmy eventually fell asleep because of all the pain medication. So, they went out into the hall to wait for their parents. They were sitting right outside Jimmy's exam room. Peter's head felt like it was going to explode so he laid down on one of the long benches with his eyes covered by his baseball cap. Paul and Andrew sat on a bench across from him.

"Did you guys see 'em," asked Peter, suddenly.

"We didn't see anything," said Paul. "We were too far away. Did you?"

"Yeah," said Peter. "I could see 'em clear as day. The street lamp was right on their faces. One guy raised his gun at me."

"What," exclaimed Paul. He jumped up and stood over Peter who still had his baseball cap over his eyes.

"I think they were gonna shoot me," added Peter softly. "I think they were gonna shoot me cause I saw 'em."

"Shit," said Andrew. "What if they come back? Shit."

"But if I can identify 'em, the police will get 'em," said Peter. "Right?"

"Not if they disappear," said Paul. "Why didn't you say something before?"

Peter sat up and glared. "Sorry if I was a little out of it. I got a headache the size of Manhattan here!"

"Boys," said a nurse passing by. "Please, keep your voices down."

Peter shot a peevish look to Paul, and then dropped back down on the bench. The sudden movement had made him feel like he would lose his stomach again. His brother just crossed his arms and sat back down. A tense silence fell over them.

Then there were rushed footsteps. "Hey Mom."

Peter pushed his cap up to see his mother briskly walking over to Paul who had stood up. Peter put his legs down and sat up. His mother came over to him and knelt in front of him.

"Oh, Peter, are you okay," she asked. "When the police called and said you had been hurt in a drive-by shooting I didn't know what to think."

"I'm fine, Mom," replied Peter softly with a smile. "Just a cut."

His mother—Marie—took off his baseball cap so that she could inspect the 'cut' herself. She shook her head. "When did the doctor say the stitches could come out?"

"In about a week," replied Peter. "It's really not that bad."

Then, Andrew's mother came in and there was a similar reunion of assuring her that her boy was quite okay. She said that Jimmy's parents were on their way as well.

"We should go home, boys," Marie said. "It's getting late."

"I don't want to leave Jimmy by himself," said Peter.

"He's out of it," said Andrew. "Go on home, kid. I'll wait around some."

"Come on," said Paul, putting an arm around Peter's shoulders. "You look like you're about to fall asleep right here anyway."

He led his younger brother down the hallway while Marie told Andrew's mother good-bye. Then, they got in the car and drove off.

The Burke's actually lived just outside Cayuga Heights. They lived in a typical two story down a road that wasn't quite as populated. The house had belonged to Peter's great-uncle and had been left to his father. That was the main reason they were living in it: it was paid off. In all reality, they probably wouldn't have been able to actually afford a house like this one had they bought it. But it was a perfect size for the family. Upstairs, Peter and Paul shared a room and Anne, their younger sister, had her own room. Then all three shared a bathroom. Downstairs, there was the master bedroom, a guest bedroom, a good size den, and kitchen. A porch ran along the front and back of the house. In the back, the porch was screened in, and that was where their two German Shepherds, Rose and Freddie, slept. Their plot of land was pretty spacious and sloped away into the hilly woods that consumed the area. In their front yard, Marie had planted a few apple trees that were very successful.

When they got home, they found that Anne had been picked up by their father—John. She ran to them, already in her pajamas, when they came in the door.

Peter and Paul feared being attacked with questions about what they had seen. But instead, all Anne had to say was: "Can I see it?"

Peter smiled, removed his baseball cap and flipped back his bangs to show her the cut. She grimaced and upturned her nose. "Ugh, it's ugly. Does it hurt?"

"Yeah," said Peter. "I've got quite the headache."

John stepped into the kitchen and Paul and Peter looked up. "Come on out here, boys. We need to have a talk." He turned and walked out to the back porch, the screen door slamming shut behind him.

Paul and Peter followed. Rose and Freddie trotted over to greet them. John was sitting in one of the rocking chairs. He pointed to the porch swing. "Sit down."

They silently obeyed, but as Peter walked by him, John grabbed his arm. He took the baseball cap off his son's head and flipped back the bangs. He grunted and let Peter go. "A shooting in Cayuga Heights. That's something I'd never thought I'd see. And my own two sons caught up in the middle of it. Boy would your grandfather have a fit." He smiled and the boys smiled. Then he sat down and said. "Now, sit down."

They sat on the porch swing, keeping it as still as possible.

"Paul, you're seventeen years old and your eighteenth birthday is…"

"In sixteen days," replied Paul stoically.

"Right and Peter you're fifteen years old," continued John. "But for some time, I've considered you both men. You're both responsible, diligent, and smart. Shit, you're smarter than I ever was. And I'm proud of both of you. As you know, going to college is something of an anomaly in this family. But I know both of you will lead the way. To say that I don't have high expectations of you boys would be lying. But I don't mean the expectations of becoming successful businessmen or baseball players and making a ton of money. I mean that I have high expectations on how you carry yourselves through life. I expect you to be like you both have been as far back as I can remember: fair, responsible, respectful, honest, and honorable. The difference between now and only a few hours ago was that now all of that will be tested. The test in life is to be morally diligent when the times get rough. Sure, we've had some rough times around here, but nothing where one of you was singled out. In the next few days, you are both—as will Andrew and Jimmy—have moments where it will just be you who has to stand alone, even if just for a little while. But that will be when you're being tested."

"Dad?" Peter swallowed.

"Yes?"

"Why are you telling us this?"

"I'm warning you about reality. There's a lot in this world that you haven't seen in Cayuga Heights."

They both nodded. "Yessir."

The three sat in silence for a few moments; the only sounds the creaking of John's rocking chair, the bugs chirping outside, and the dogs' breath.

"Now," said John. "Get up into bed and get some rest."

"Yessir."

They stood up, said good night, and went up to bed.

()()()()()()

"So when was this picture taken," asked Neal, flipping back to the first page of the album.

"That day, before we went out to play," answered Peter. "Jimmy's mother took it."

Neal studied it. "Funny. Life can be perfectly normal at the beginning of the day and nearly upside down by the end of the day."

"Yep," said Peter.

"That was quite a speech your dad gave you," said Neal. "Kind of sounds like a coming of age speech."

"I'm pretty sure it was," said Peter. He opened another beer while Neal took some last sips out of his. "I think he had an idea what was coming."

"Which was…?"

Peter flipped to the next newspaper clipping: **Heights Boy Identifies Shooters**.


	3. Identification

**AUTHOR'S NOTES****: **First off, thanks for all the reviews and story alerts and author alerts. I really appreciated that and it really encouraged me. Now, some other stuff about the story:

Ages: I am going off Tim DeKay's age for Peter. Tim DeKay was born in 1963.

Location: It was said in "Burke's Seven" that Peter was from Upstate New York. I chose Ithaca and more specifically Cayuga Heights as Peter's hometown. Ithaca is also where Tim DeKay was from. I would like to say now that I have never been to these places and definitely have no idea what they were like in 1979. I won't be doing much describing beyond the typical American suburbs so please take no offense if I make a mistake if you are from these areas. I apologize ahead of time. Also, names of places in Cayuga Heights such as a hospital or school are completely made up as well.

Peter's Past: All that has been said about Peter's past so far in the show is that his father was a bricklayer. And in one episode I swear I saw a baseball trophy in Peter's office. From this, I have deduced that Peter was a part of a middle class family and was a baseball player. Since he said that he was "an athlete good at math" I deduced that he was a good baseball player and a smart guy too. Well, we know he's smart. He's frickin' Special Agent Peter Burke, the guy who caught Neal Caffrey twice! Duh, he's smart! Anyway, that's all the back-up I got. Hopefully there aren't any episodes that delve more into Peter's past until I'm finished with this story. Personally, I would love to hear more about his past on the show, and that's why I wrote this story.

Lastly, hope you enjoy!

P.S.—was that a kick ass episode last night or what?

* * *

It wasn't difficult for Peter to sleep in the following morning. In fact, he found that the only blessing from last night's events was that it had occurred on Friday night. Therefore, he didn't have to get up and go to the diner he worked at on weekday mornings during the summer. He woke up because the light was finally coming in through the windows at an angle that put it right into his eyes. Rolling over, he tried to go back to sleep.

It had taken him long enough to get to sleep the night before. Every time he had closed his eyes he could see the people being shot dead only right across the street from him. He could see the killers' faces and their eyes; how cold and heartless they were. It unnerved him. He kept thinking that they would suddenly appear in his room to finish him off. Paul had tossed and turned throughout the night as well.

But when he woke up, Paul was already downstairs. It was close to 10 and Peter decided it was time to get up. He shuffled to the bathroom where he pulled off the bandage over his stitches and cleaned around it. But he didn't even bother getting out of his pajamas as his stomach steered him to the kitchen. He stood for a moment between the kitchen and den. Anne was on the sofa eating eggs and sausage with _Tom and Jerry_ for company on the television. She turned around when he heard Peter.

"Hey, sleepyhead," she said. "Paul made sausage and eggs. He left them on the stove for you."

Peter looked around. "Where is he?"

"He went to go get your bikes," replied Anne, turning back to the television.

Peter just nodded and made himself a plate and joined Anne to watch the Saturday morning cartoons. On the coffee table lay that day's newspaper. The front page was about the previous nights' murders. The second page was a follow up story about the boys who had witnessed it and that two of them had been hit by the car driven by the murderers. There were no pictures or names, however. Peter couldn't help but be grateful. He wasn't a fan of attention on himself. He especially would not enjoy it in something as large as this. His father's comment before was accurate: a murder (this one a double-murder) was unheard of in Cayuga Heights and would no doubt be the talk for the next week or so.

Peter read the front page story. The two men who had been killed had just moved into the area as roommates in an apartment complex. They were co-owners of a car shop they worked themselves. The paper said nothing about why they may have been killed, but Peter's gut was telling them there was more to their story. He found it hard to believe that the murderers had just decided to go out and kill two random people. Leastways, Peter had never heard of anything like that before.

He went up for seconds, and only after making sure that everyone had eaten breakfast that morning, he took some more. This time he sat down and tossed aside the newspaper so he could actually watch the cartoons. Still, his mind continued to work. His father and mother would most likely be well into their jobs now. Paul sure was taking his time retrieving the bikes.

"What's wrong," asked Anne.

"Nothing," said Peter. "Just thinking."

"You shouldn't think so hard," said Anne. "It's giving me headache."

Peter smirked as he finished his second helping. He picked up their dishes and went to put them in the sink. "It's kind of hard not to after last night."

"Well then get your mind off it," said Anne. "You should go see Jimmy. He called earlier. He's back at home."

Peter smiled. That would certainly be something to do. "I'll wait for Paul to come back."

"Oh yeah," said Anne. "Just reminding you that Paul is taking me up to Grandma's to stay till Tuesday. He'll be gone all afternoon."

Peter swore silently. He had been hoping that everyone would just stay home today. H really had no desire to be home alone today. He turned on the water and started washing off their dishes.

"I heard that," said Anne. "You should try washing your mouth out more often."

Peter looked up. How had she heard that?

"You forgot, didn't you?"

"Nope."

"Yeah you did."

"I never forget."

"Peter, this is a lost cause."

The side door opened and Paul walked in, hanging up the keys to their pick-up.

"'Bout time you woke up," he told Peter. "Look at you, doing the dishes. Remember—"

"You're taking Anne up to Grandma's," finished Peter. "I remembered."

"Not until a minute ago," Anne put in. She laid down the newspaper on the kitchen table. "And just so you know, I did the crossword puzzle on the newspaper."

"What?" Paul and Peter glared at her.

The crossword puzzle was unique piece of the Burke children. Their father had always done crosswords of all sorts, telling them that he wanted to broaden his vocabulary. They followed his lead and soon enough were ardently solving it each day. It was, of course, more difficult when they were younger because they didn't know a lot about the content of the puzzles they attempted. But as they got older and more knowledgeable, it was more fun. Of course, there was only one newspaper which brought up trouble. Marie, ever the mediator between the children, came up with a simple solution: they simply write their answers down on a separate piece of paper. At first, there was some confusion because it then became more difficult for them to see how words fit. But Marie knew her children. They would see it as a challenge; a challenge for themselves individually and also between their siblings. So, there were no complaints towards the compromise. They simply got to it and started working. John and Marie were both proud of how willingly their children tackled the problems; not to mention how efficiently they would get over any obstacle. "They're smarter than I ever was," John told Marie one night. "But I have nothing against that. I want them to go as far as they want to and to never be limited by what they don't know or understand."

Paul and Peter could never stare down Anne.

"Well," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Peter slept forever and then Paul left. I thought you guys would've forgotten about it."

"I was looking forward to that," muttered Peter, turning back to the dishes.

Anne rolled her eyes. "Don't pout like a little girl Petey."

Peter mumbled something under his breath and glared out the window as he kept working on the dishes. Paul just picked up the newspapers and dumped them in the trash.

"I wouldn't care to see today's paper anyway," he said.

"Well, I read it," said Peter.

Anne cast her eyes down. "I did too." She sighed. "I'm sorry you guys had to see it."

There was an awkward silence. Peter turned off the water. "Look, I'm gonna go get dressed and ride over to Jimmy's house. How's my bike?"

"It's fine," said Paul. "But Jimmy's is messed up. I dropped it off at his house."

"I'll work on it," said Peter.

The doorbell rang and the three kids looked up, wondering who it would be. Anyone that they knew would've gone to the side door.

"I'll get it," said Anne.

"No," said Paul, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I will. You two stay here." He stalked out of the kitchen.

Peter sighed. "He's in protective mode."

Anne smiled. "He said he felt guilty about what happened last night. He said that he was supposed to always watch out for us, and that he shouldn't have let you get hit by that car."

"What? He knows better. There was nothing he could've done."

Anne was about to reply, but they heard Paul returning. Paul entered the kitchen with a man in tow.

"This is Lt. Cooper Stoval," said Paul. "He's from the police department. Lt., this is my sister Anne, and my brother Peter."

The two younger Burkes shook his hand. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. He was dressed in black slacks and a dress shirt but wore no tie. There was a badge and handgun on his belt. He had calloused hands and a worn down look to him, but still looked strong and firm. His eyes were gentle and kind as well, making the children feel comfortable around him.

"I'm going upstairs to get packed," said Anne.

She left and Cooper looked around. "Going somewhere?"

"She's going to our grandparents' for a few days," replied Paul.

"Can I get you any coffee, Lt.," asked Peter, reaching for a mug.

"No thanks, son," he said. "I came here to get your story from last night. I've already spoken to the other two boys. For records' sake, I need your statements, but I understand that one of you actually saw the shooters."

Peter nodded. "I did."

"Do you think you could sit down with a sketch artist and describe them," asked Cooper.

"Sure," said Peter. "I even recognized one of them."

"You did," asked Paul. "You never said that."

"You were upset enough when I said I saw them," shot back Peter.

Paul locked his jaw in mild irritation, and Cooper smiled. "How about we sit down?" He gestured to the table, and they sat down.

"First," said Cooper. "Both of you just tell me what happened." He set a tape recorder on the table. "This will be running the entire time." He turned it on and they each told their story from their point of views. Peter told from when he and Jimmy were crossing the intersection until the killers drove off. Paul did the same, explaining what he had seen from fifty yards off.

When they were finished, Cooper stopped the tape. Anne crossed through the den to the back porch; it was obvious she had been listening to their accounts. Paul and Peter shared a look, telepathically deciding they would have a talk with her.

"Ok," said Cooper. "That's basically the same story as the other boys gave—give or take a few details. Peter, yours is obviously more helpful since you saw the shooters. Your friend, James—"

"Jimmy," corrected Peter quickly. Paul nudged him in the ribs with his elbow, but Peter ignored it. "He hates it when people call him James."

Cooper smiled. "Right. I'll remember that. Well, he insisted on telling me all the way from the time he saw a possum crossing the road to when a paramedic in the ambulance jabbed him too hard with a needle."

Paul rolled his eyes while Peter smirked. "Yessir, that's Jimmy."

"Well," said Cooper. "What you can now do is tell me about the man you recognized. Where do you think you've seen him before? Oh, and I'm turning the tape recorder again."

"Yessir," said Peter. "The guy I recognized, he was the passenger. He was the one who pointed the gun at me. I know I saw him at this Christmas party—just this past Christmas."

"The Bardwells' Christmas party," asked Paul.

"Yeah," said Peter. He looked to Cooper to explain. "Mark Bardwell is on our baseball team—or was. He graduated with Paul this year. Anyway, he invited the team to this formal Christmas party at his house."

"Wait a minute," said Cooper. "Bardwell? As in Judge Clayton Bardwell?"

"Yessir," answered Peter. "That's Mark's father."

"And you saw this guy from the car at that party?"

"Right. I'm sure of it. I remember because I went to say hello to Judge Bardwell and he was standing next to him. He had gone to Ithaca High and was telling me to lessen up for that game or something."

"You don't remember a name," asked Cooper. "Hear anything else about him that night?"

Peter shook his head. "Sorry, no. I never heard his name. But he was there as long as I was if not longer. He's obviously a friend of Judge Bardwell's or a friend of the family."

Cooper smiled. "That's right. Which might help us. If I could find a picture of him you would be able to identify him?"

"You think you know who he is," asked Paul.

"No, I don't have any idea," replied Cooper. "But he's associated with the Judge."

"And there are plenty of pictures of him," finished Peter. "But that's a lot of pictures I'd have to look through."

"Willing to do it to help catch a killer," asked Cooper.

Peter nodded. "Yessir. Anytime."

()()()()()()

"To catch a killer…So, you identified them?" Neal was working on his second beer.

"Yep," said Peter. "I looked through photos for an hour before I found him. He was an old buddy of the Judge's. They went way back; their fathers were good friends. They went to college together then separated ways. The Judge—well he went to law school and the other guy came here to New York City. Anyway, his name was Christopher Winters. He was back in town because he was going to help the Judge in the upcoming campaign for a seat on the state's Supreme Court."

Neal whistled. "So what about this other guy? The driver?"

"I sat down with a sketch artist, and described him as best as I could," said Peter. "His defining feature was that he had a scar pretty much down the middle of his face." Peter drew his finger from the point between his eyes, down the right side of his nose and over the right corner of his lips to his chin. "That was what gave him away. His name was Terry Dixon. The Lt. had a file on him: he was a drug dealer from New York. When he moved into Ithaca, NYPD sent all the local police a warning and his records."

"So what were a drug dealer and a campaign advisor to a judge doing shooting up the neighborhood," asked Neal.

"That's the question the Lt. had to start investigating," replied Peter. "And that was what blew the roof off it all. I'm sure you can see how this became controversial."

"Right," said Neal. "A judge who is looking for a spot in the state Supreme Court is now connected to a killer who was with a drug dealer. This doesn't look good for him."

"It brought a lot of heat his way," said Peter. He took another swig from his bottle. "And that heat went to us who had seen it all. Though our name hadn't been in a paper or anything, everyone knew it was us who had seen it."

"Did anyone know it was you that identified them, though," asked Neal.

Peter shook his head. "No, not yet. But eventually our identities came out. The next day, _somehow_—"

"Reporters always find a way," put in Neal.

"Exactly," said Peter. "Anyway, they got our names and the next day there was a story on us being there. Also, that same night, after I identified Winters and Dixon, the Lt. went and picked up Winters. (Dixon was conveniently out of town.) So, the same day our names came out in the paper, another article ran about one of us identifying Winters."

"So the shit hit the fan," said Neal. "Pardon mon français."

"Well, you're right," said Peter. He turned the page to show the two articles. The first title was obviously a front page: **Judge Bardwell's Right Hand Man Identified as One of the Cayuga Height Murderers**. There was a picture of the man, flanked by his lawyers. The other article said: **Baseball Champions Paul and Peter Burke, Andrew Jennings, and James Levi Are Witnesses**. There was a yearbook picture of each boy. The article restated the known details about the shooting and then had something on each boy and their accomplishments on the baseball team that previous school year. It mentioned Paul and Andrew's scholarships to Cornell as well as mentioning that Peter had been awarded the district's student athlete award for spring sports.

"Wow, Peter, that's impressive," said Neal. "Only a sophomore and already a mathalete."

"You can call it whatever you want to call it," said Peter. "I was just good at math and also a good athlete."

"Yeah, yeah," Neal waved him off looking at the pictures. "So what happened next?"

Peter shrugged. "We took the heat."


	4. Taking the Heat

He had long ago lost his hat in the scuffle. Well, the scuffle was no longer classified as a scuffle. It was a full-fledge fist fight. His hat lay in the dust near home base, safe now, for the fight had moved back behind the plate.

He was slammed up against the chain link fence, the metal pressing through his thin shirt and into his back. He knew he would have one or two bruises from that. But, that was nothing considering his nose and lip were already bleeding and his cheeks was swelling and his stomach was aching. Still, he was proud to say that his opponents weren't looking too great either. For all his being outnumbered two to one, Peter was still giving them hell.

But now he was pinned against the fence by the taller boy and the other, who was already looking like a damned raccoon with two black eyes, was getting his revenge in making Peter's gut feel like mush. The first time, Peter doubled over in surprise. His head was slammed back up against the fence. The second time, he gritted his teeth and kept himself from groaning. The third time the boy raised his fist, Peter raised his foot and kicked him where it hurt. Simultaneously, he jabbed his elbow hard into the taller boy's ribs, making him loosen his grip just enough to throw another punch and wriggle away.

He fell to the ground, turning over to see both of them turn on him. He quickly crawled backwards, until he grabbed his hat. He then jumped up, put it on and turned it backwards. Now, if he thought he had to run, he at least wasn't cornered behind home plate.

He raised his hands in a peace offering. "Okay," he said. "You've made your point clear: you don't like me. How about we just stop right here?"

"How about you tell us who gave up Christopher Winters' name," said the taller boy.

Peter glared. "Not a chance."

"Then this isn't over," said the other boy, taking a step forward.

Peter hated running away from a fight, but he wasn't an idiot. If it were just one, he'd gladly take them. But two was a bit much, especially when one was larger than him. He took a half-step back and then turned and ran.

They came after him.

It had started out a simple day. He'd gotten up, gone to work at the diner as usual on this Tuesday morning. His parents had gone to work, and Paul left to go pick up Anne. Andrew had gone with him for the ride. After work, Peter had been riding his bike to Jimmy's house. He hadn't seen him since Sunday. That afternoon, after all the reports about their identities and Christopher Winters had come out, the four boys had decided that they would never tell who had identified Winters. Peter was gratified for this. They could at least take the heat together. Already, on Monday he had been regarded differently at the diner. Most wondered how anyone could have made such an accusation. Most people were very fond of the Judge, and didn't want to see his chances for a Supreme Court spit get harmed like this. But if anyone asked about details, the boys decided that their reply would always be: "Just read the papers."

Peter hadn't seen Jimmy since Sunday afternoon. Monday he had gone off to his own job in the morning and in the afternoon he and Paul went up toAnne's horseshow. Anne's extracurricular activity was show jumping. Their grandparents—Marie's parents—owned a few horses and partially funded their granddaughter's delight in it. She was escalating in her talents. The boys had ridden horses as well, but never in showmanship; just for fun at their grandparents' house further upstate.

So, he had been on his way to Jimmy's house when he had been blindsided off his bike. They hadn't been able to get him still enough on the street and he had made a break for it, only to be cornered on the baseball field. Now, he was making a break for his bike, hoping that he could just pedal away from them.

He got back to his bike, and got a running start to it. He looked back, happy to see them pull up from their run after they saw that he was too far away to give chase. He smiled but kept pedaling like hell until he was a few blocks away.

When he came up to Jimmy's house, he hid his bike away in the backyard. Jimmy's three younger siblings, ranging from the ages 12-6, were back there, playing with their friends. Jimmy's mother was a stay-at-home mom and his dad worked for the Postal Service, which was how Peter's mother had gotten her job sorting through mail. Connections were always nice.

Peter went through the back door as if he lived in the house. Jimmy did the same in his own home. He heard Jimmy's mother in the kitchen, making lunch for her kids. But he dodged her by going through the den and down the hall to Jimmy's room, where he had been holed up after breaking his leg.

Jimmy was in bed, leg propped up on pillows, reading a _Sports Illustrated_. He put the magazine down when he heard the door open. His jaw dropped and he sat up quickly.

"Shit, Peter, what did you get in to," he exclaimed.

Peter shut the door behind him. "Be quiet. I don't want your mom to see me before I get cleaned up."

Jimmy grabbed a towel from off the ground and tossed it to him. Jimmy had bathroom connected to the room he and his two younger brothers shared. Jimmy had his own bed on one side of the room and a bunk bed on the other. The room was littered with the three boys' belongings and Peter carefully stepped over them to get to the bathroom. He turned the light on and grimaced at his own reflection.

He washed his face and cleaned the cuts. There was more blood than he had originally realized. When he was thru, he gently touched his tender cheek and bit back a groan. Yeah, he'd be hurting in a few days. It didn't look bad yet, but he knew that tomorrow morning he'd be feeling it. He walked out the bathroom.

"You need something cold on that cheek of yours," he said. "Besides the busted lip, it just look like you ran into something."

"You think I could say I just fell down," asked Peter. "I could say I fell off my bike."

Jimmy studied him. "Except everyone know what a punched cheek looks like. You won't be able to get by with that."

As if on cue, the door opened up and Jimmy's mother came in with a sandwich.

"Oh, hey Peter—" gasp "—Peter, who did you get in a fight with?"

Jimmy gave Peter an 'I-told-you-so' look, and Peter sighed. "Don't worry about it, Mrs. Levi."

"He just needs something cold for it, Mom," said Jimmy.

"Of course," she exclaimed. "I'll be right back." She quickly returned with some meat in a paper towel and another sandwich. He thanked her and sat down on the bottom bunk across the room from Jimmy.

He set the sandwich aside. "I don't think I could eat right now. You think you could eat it so I don't hurt her feelings?"

"I'm sure it wouldn't hurt her feelings," said Jimmy. "But sure; I'll eat it."

Peter smiled as he put the cold meat against his swelling cheek. He grimaced some.

"So, who was it," asked Jimmy.

"Harrison and Kendall," replied Peter sourly. "I never really liked them anyway, but now I hate them."

"Wait a minute," said Jimmy. "You got attacked?"

"I got thrown off my bike," exclaimed Peter. He quickly described everything to him.

"At least they'll be hurting tonight too," said Jimmy. "Gee, I knew you guys didn't see eye to eye, but I never thought they'd come rough you up just to find out who identified those men."

Peter shrugged. "Think about what they would've done if they'd known it was me."

Jimmy nodded and added softly. "You know they're always hanging out with Mark, right?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah."

"You seen him around?"

"Saw him downtown yesterday, when I went by the post office. He was mailing something off. I said hello, but he just stared at me and watched me go by. I don' know, it's not our fault his father has a friend like Christopher Winters." He shrugged. "I don't really care. He's graduated; we're not on the same team anymore. And summer ball starts up next week. Once that gets going, everything will go back to normal."

"You think?"

"Sure, why not? It'll all blow over and everyone will be thick as thieves in a few days."

"Until we have to testify."

Peter set the meat down. "Why'd you have to remind me?"

"Well, don't these things usually take forever to get through the courts anyway?"

"I dunno."

They fell into comfortable silence.

"Look, how about you help me up and we can go sit out underneath the carport," said Jimmy. "I'm about to die if I don't get a breath of fresh air."

Peter smiled. "Sure."

He helped his friend up, handed him the crutches and they went outside with their lunch. Jimmy's mom brought out some lemonade and said nothing at Peter's untouched sandwich. Jimmy sat down and finished up the food while Peter occupied himself on fixing up Jimmy's bike. Their talk went away from current problems and back to baseball as they discussed nearly every game that had been played that past weekend. After Peter finished up with the bike, they played catch, with Jimmy sitting back in a lawn chair with his leg up on an ice chest.

It was around that time that Paul and Andrew rode up on their bikes. Peter pulled his hat down low, hoping they wouldn't notice anything. And they didn't, right away. It wasn't until Jimmy's mother came out with more lemonade and she took the frozen meat back inside that they noticed something. Paul pulled Peter's cap off his head.

"What the hell?"

"It's nothing, Paul. I just got into an argument with someone."

"Who?"

"Harrison and Kendall," Peter said.

"Those two again," asked Paul. Everyone knew that they and Peter didn't really get along. But never before had they gotten into a fight. Paul was quick though. He knew they were close friends of Mark Bardwell. "Was it about Winters?"

"They just wanted to know who identified them," confessed Peter.

"Did you tell 'em?"

"No! Do you think I have some kind of death wish? Look, don't worry about it. They're going home with a few aches too, and if you don't mind, I'd like to forget about it for now. Let's just play some ball."

Paul reluctantly took up his glove.

If Peter had feared his brother finding out, he was much more reluctant to letting their parents seeing him. But that was also inevitable, for they had dinner together that night. Peter and Paul came to the table, Peter keeping his head down. But quickly enough, his father's fingers slipped underneath his chin and raised his head up.

Marie gasped, and Peter raised a hand. "Don't worry about it Mom. There's nothing you can do about it. Besides, I've gotten hit in the face before."

"I knew this would happen eventually," said John.

"I won't tell you did it," said Peter quickly. "It's between me and them."

"No, Peter," said Paul. "It's between you, me, Andrew, Jimmy and them. We'll get them back."

"You will do no such thing," said John. The boys looked at their father. "You will not enact revenge on them. It isn't worth it and someone eventually could get seriously injured."

"So, we're supposed to ignore it," asked Peter.

"You fight to defend yourself, but otherwise, be the better man," said John. "Don't stoop down to their level. Understand?"

"Yessir," replied the boys.

Marie said the grace and then Anne started chattering about her weekend upstate and her horseshow. The dinner went on nicely.

The week went by and on Saturday morning, Lt. Cooper came back to the Burke residence. He came by in the morning, and it was a rare day that Marie and John were off. Marie let him into the house and he introduced himself; the children had already told their parents of him.

"I just need to talk to your sons," he said. "If they're around."

"They're out back," replied Marie. "Here, I'll take you to them."

She led him out onto the back porch, where John was in his rocking chair, reading the paper. Anne was laying on her stomach, playing with a kitten she had found on the roadside the previous day. She looked up and smiled at Cooper.

"Hey, Lt.," she said.

John looked up. He stood up, taking his reading glasses off and setting them in his shirt pocket. He shook Cooper's hand.

"Hello, I'm John," he said.

"Yessir," said Cooper. "I just need a word with your sons regarding the trial."

"A date has been set," asked Marie.

"Yes ma'am," replied Cooper. "June 25th; two Mondays from now." He looked out to the yard where Peter was practicing his pitches. "You've got quite the pair of athletes there."

"They're good boys," said John. "Anne, go get your brothers for us. And don't yell for them; just go get them."

Anne set aside the kitten, who went and mingled with German Shepherds who were lying down under the porch swing. They raised their eyebrows at it and whimpered as it lazily walked by.

The boys came back with Anne, swiping off their caps as they walked onto the porch. Cooper narrowed his eyes at Peter's face.

"I heard about that," he said.

"How," asked Peter.

"One of the officers was at that diner you work out," answered Cooper. "He told me about it."

Peter nodded. "It's nothing."

Cooper gave him a look like 'yeah right' and then looked at Paul. "And I know that you and Andrew got in scuffle with two other boys." Everyone looked at Paul who glared at Cooper as if he had ratted him out. "Another one of my officers saw it, but let it slide when he saw that no one got hurt."

"What, you got officers watching us all over town," asked Paul indignantly.

"Paul, watch your tone," scolded Marie.

"I do, son," said Cooper. "Because I don't want my witnesses getting hurt. Now, the trial is on the 25th. Can I trust all four of you to mind your own business and keep yourselves intact till then?"

The boys hesitated but with one look at their father they quickly said, "Yessir."

"Good," said Cooper. "Now, have a good day. Mr. and Mrs. Burke, it was nice to meet you."

"Thank you, Lt.," said Marie.

John and Cooper shook hands and the Lt. left, walking around the house to the front. When he was out of sight, Peter turned on his brother.

"Who was it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Who did you and Andrew go after?"

"Don't worry about it."

Peter looked at their parents, but the two had decided this was between them. He pushed his brother in the chest. "Don't worry about it, huh? Look, I'll find out sooner or later."

Anne decided to ditch the porch at that moment, taking the kitten with her.

"Listen, it doesn't concern you," said Paul. He started to turn around.

But Peter grabbed his arm and spun him back. "It does concern me. If it concerns even just one of us, it concerns all four of us! Now, who was it?"

"Harrison and Kendall," replied Paul softly.

Peter let go of his brother. "Really?" His voice was tainted with sarcasm. "What's up with that?"

"I just told 'em to lay off my younger brother," said Paul.

"I can take care of myself," said Peter.

"Right," remarked Paul with a small chuckle. He gestured to Peter's face. "I can tell."

Peter exhaled. "But don't you remember: we have to be the better man."

Paul locked his jaw, and sighed. "You're right."

"I am," asked Peter, surprised that his brother had given in so easily.

Paul laughed and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Okay. Let's go find Jimmy and Andrew. We need to have a talk."

Later, they sat under Jimmy's carport, gathered around with lemonade.

"Here's the deal," said Paul. "Obviously, some people don't agree with what we've done. So, we stick together. No one goes anywhere without at least someone else from this group. It doesn't matter where you go. If you're not with your family, don't do it. There are enough people around that we don't know what could happen."

"Sounds like a deal," said Andrew.

()()()()()()

"Aww, big brother was watching out for you," said Neal.

They had moved to the sofa by now, taking a break from the beer. The last time they had done this they had had quite the headache the following morning.

Peter rolled his eyes. "But that was a foolish move. It didn't help anybody. If anything, it just made them angrier. You know what I said about revenge…"

"Yeah, I see where you got it," said Neal. "Actually, I'm beginning to see a lot here. Some of the things you tell me, this is where you learned them."

"I people really looking out for me back then," said Peter. "Even if I didn't appreciate it as much as I should have at the time."

Neal nodded. "Well, I'd like to let you know that I appreciate the people who are watching out for me right now."

Peter nodded and there was a somewhat awkward silence that followed. Satchmo wandered into the den, wondering why they were still up at such an hour. Neal bent over to pet him.

"So, was everything quiet until the trial?"

"Definitely not," said Peter. "Mark got into it later. And that's when everything jumped up a notch."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" Peter picked up the album from the coffee table and flipped the page. "As you can see, the shit really began to hit the fan here."

Neal read the headline: **Brawl At Baseball Game; Peter Burke Identified Christopher Winters**.


	5. Temptations

"Strike three! That's a ball game boys!"

It was the first weekend of summer baseball. The park in Ithaca was filled with the local Little League teams playing each other. It was a bright Saturday afternoon and there were plenty of families in the park; some there for the games and others just enjoying the weekend. The park pool was in much use and water fountains had more splash than usual.

Meanwhile, Peter was celebrating a win on an opening game. The batter, who had just been struck out by his curve ball, tipped his hat in acknowledgement of the throw. His team came out to congratulate him. Then, followed the usual shaking of the hands and the repetitive, "good game" between the opponents and a few "see you next time around". Afterwards, the boys dispersed to their family and friends.

Jimmy waited in the dugout for Peter. He had become the team's resident cheerleader as Peter teased him often enough about. All through the week, Jimmy had attended practices with Peter. Paul and Andrew had decided that Jimmy, while he was injured, didn't exactly count as someone to have with you at all times. So, they had been coming to the fields as well, disguising their 'protective detail' as just wanting to play catch. It was also an excuse to drive Peter and Jimmy out to the field when normally they would be out on their bikes.

Though Christopher Winters was on house arrest until the trial, the second man—Terry Dixon—was still out on the run, laying low. The police were searching high and low for him. They had even asked for help from detectives who had dealt with him in New York. But there was no such luck so far. They tried not to think about it though.

"Nice game there, son," said Jimmy with a high five to Peter. "You've got the meanest curve ball I've ever seen."

"That one guy in the seventh clipped it," replied Peter, slightly disappointed.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "But you still whupped 'em good, man. A win's a win."

"Agreed," said Peter. He changed from his cleats, pants, and long socks into a pair of shorts and tennis shoes. Then, he grabbed his glove and he and Jimmy left the dugout. Jimmy was now happily only using one crutch.

They greeted Paul and Andrew beside the stands. They gave their congratulations, but their expressions showed that their thoughts were elsewhere.

"What's up," asked Peter.

"Mark is here with a few of his friends," said Paul.

Peter and Jimmy followed his gaze across the baseball diamond. Outside the outfield fence, they saw Mark, Harrison, Kendall and two other boys looking their direction.

"They always make sure there's one more than us," observed Andrew.

"Let's go grab a bite to eat or something," said Jimmy. "There's that new pizza parlor just around the corner we could try."

"Good idea," said Paul. "But first we have to find Anne and her friend. They went swimming."

They started making their way to the pool, but each kept an eye on the movements of Mark and his crew. They were keeping their distance, but going in the same direction as them.

"You think they just want to talk to us," asked Jimmy. "I mean, they couldn't fight us out here could they?"

"That would be pretty stupid," said Andrew. "I mean, with all these people it would be broken up pretty quick. There's no point."

They came up to the pool, and Paul hollered for Anne. They started swimming over.

"Hey Burke, can I have a word?"

The boys turned around to see Mark and his crew behind them. Mark stepped forward, with a neutral expression.

Peter quickly stepped forward. "Which one? Because we're both in this conversation."

Paul yanked his younger brother back. "What's up Mark?"

"First off, I just wanted to apologize for your kid brother getting knocked around," said Mark. "I know you probably think it was my idea, but it wasn't. Harrison and Kendall here just got worked up. That's all."

"Sure," said Paul. "It happens."

"Right," said Mark. "And you and I have always respected each other. I thought you would understand."

Harrison leaned forward ad held out his hand. After a nudge from Paul, Peter reached out and shook it, and then Kendall's.

"There," said Mark. "We're all good."

Anne came up out of the pool then, a few paces to the side. She looked between the two groups, feeling the tension, and walked over.

"But I wouldn't go anywhere alone," said Kendall as he backed away from Peter.

Andrew, who was closest to him, put his hand on Kendall's shoulder and gave him a little nudge away.

"Hey, man, we don't want any trouble," said Andrew.

Kendall lost his cool a little and shoved Andrew. Andrew caught his balance before falling into the pool, but he was shoved into Anne. On the wet concrete, she lost her balance, and slipped. The back of her head slammed onto the pavement before she rolled into the pool, limp as a rag doll.

Very quickly, three things happened.

First, and amazingly, Jimmy was the first one into the poll to rescue her. Paul was right behind him.

Second, Peter lunged forward, and grabbed Kendall by the collar. Mark grabbed Kendall's arms and Andrew went to restrain Peter by throwing his arms around Peter's torso.

And third, Peter ground out: "You leave my friends and my family alone, because _I_ was the one who said it was Christopher Winters in that car. It was me, and if you have any trouble with it, you take it up with me."

He let Kendall go. Mark jerked Kendall back, but looked oddly at Peter. But then, Peter was jerked away by Andrew, who was obviously displeased by his actions. They watched Mark and his crew hurry off while people started gathering around the pool.

Andrew glared at Peter, but whatever he wanted to say would be left unsaid because Paul and Jimmy came up with Anne, who was now conscious. Peter and Andrew bent over to pull her out of the water. Peter took her towel from her friend and draped it around her shoulders.

"You all right," he asked.

She nodded, still shocked. "I just hit my head. It just knocked me silly."

He felt the back of her head and she winced when he found the knot. "It's not bleeding," he said. "You guys go get dressed and we'll get out of here."

"Where's Mark," she asked.

"He's gone now, don't worry about it," replied Peter.

Anne just nodded and with her friend they went to go get into dry clothes. Paul and Jimmy got out of the pool, their wet clothes weighing down on them. Peter handed Jimmy his crutch.

"How about you, are you okay," he asked.

"Never better," replied Jimmy. "Just getting some exercise and a nice, cool dip in the pool. It was a spur of the moment decision."

The boys smiled at Jimmy's ability to defuse a tense moment. But it didn't last long. Andrew broke the dam.

"Well, Petey here blew his cover," he said.

"What are you talking about," asked Paul.

"He told 'em that he was the one who identified those guys," replied Andrew.

"What," exclaimed Paul. "Are you an idiot? Now they're gonna come after you!"

"Good," shot back Peter. "I don't want them going after any of you guys. You saw what just happened! Anne got hurt because she was around. If they just come after me, it won't happen again."

Paul shook his head. "You are unbelievable. It was you just a few days go telling me that we have to stay together."

"That was before," replied Peter. "Before someone else got hurt."

Paul just shook his head. "You're an idiot. That was a dumb, rash move. Now, they aren't going to be the only ones that know. Christopher Winters will know and so will that other guy. You know, the guy they haven't caught yet? The guy you might be still lurking around, waiting for his chance. They don't want you to testify Peter. Because once you do, it's more trouble for 'em. They'll want to keep you from testifying. It's more difficult to keep four boys from testifying, but now they just have one. Now, they're only coming after you."

Peter didn't let them see how that did make him nervous inside. Instead, he just narrowed his eyes. "They can beat me up all they want, I'll still testify."

Paul shook his head. "You're playing with fire. I'm not talking about boys on a baseball diamond ganging up on you. It's more than that now."

"I'm not threatened by them," said Peter.

Paul just nodded. "Yeah, well, you have two days till the trial. And you're not going anywhere without anyone."

"Whatever," said Peter. "It's two days."

Paul just shook his head. "Deny it all you want, cowboy, but you better keep your cool till then."

That wasn't the only lecture he got. There was one from his father, that evening when he heard about what happened. Then, after the Sunday paper came out the next day, Lt. Cooper dropped by to lecture him as well. Peter was angry with all of them. Didn't they see what he had done? He just wanted to keep from other people getting hurt. But no one cared what he said in reply; they still said his actions were rash and dumb.

Peter kept his chin up, though. He still firmly believed in what he had done. He even told his father that he would do it again if he had to. That only brought a look of deep disappointment from him. Peter was hurt by the look, but pushed it aside. He couldn't back down now.

The rest of Saturday was spent at the house and then they went to church on Sunday morning, where most people gazed carefully at Peter. But he couldn't read them. He couldn't figure out what they were thinking. Some looked pleased and others looked angry. There was still a riff about having the Judge's chance for Supreme Court in the state basically ripped away. And they saw fit to blame that on the boys and more specifically Peter.

After church, the phone rang. It was for Peter. It was the diner he worked at, saying that one of the kitchen workers who was supposed to come in that day had called in sick. Could he come in? He replied that he would be there as soon as possible.

"I need to go to the diner," he told his parents. "They're short. They said they pay double if I came in."

"How long will you be there for," asked Marie, obviously worried.

"They close at four on Sundays," Peter said.

"Okay," said John. "I'll drive you and come pick you up."

Peter sighed, irritated with all the worry over him now. But he just nodded and changed out of his Sunday best.

"Where you going," asked Paul, lounging on his bed with a magazine.

"Work. They're shorthanded." Paul started to rise up and Peter raised a hand. "Don't worry, Dad is dropping me off and picking me up."

Paul nodded. "Good. Be careful."

"I'm just gonna be in a kitchen for six hours," said Peter. "What the heck is gonna happen in a kitchen?"

The drive there was rather awkward. John seemed like he wanted to tell his son something, because Peter was still being stubborn about it all. They hadn't said much to one another since John's long lecture to him the previous day.

But when they got to the diner, Peter just said. "See ya at four."

John nodded and watched his son enter the diner before driving off.

Peter went around back to enter the kitchen. The first thing he saw when he opened the door was Judge Bardwell, sitting in his Sunday best on a stool by the chopping counter in the kitchen. Peter froze, sensing that something was up. Then, a man that Peter had never seen before, reach forward and grabbed him by the collar. He shut the door behind Peter and pushed him forward into the kitchen.

"Sit down, boy," he said.

Peter looked around. The owner of the diner, an elderly man, was standing on the other side of the kitchen, looking worried. He stood beside his sons, who were the two cooks.

"They made you call me," Peter realized suddenly.

Judge Bardwell smiled. "Nice catch, son. You're smart. Now, have a seat." He gestured to another stool.

"I think I'll just stand," replied Peter.

The man behind him pushed him forward. "Sit."

Peter sat and the Judge smiled. "Attaboy. Now, let's get straight to it." But, first, he looked back at the owner and his sons. "You three, go out front and just let us have a private conversation." They didn't budge. "I promise, no harm will come to this kid. We just need a few minutes to talk. George, go out there with them and make sure they don't go anywhere."

They all left, leaving Peter alone with the Judge.

"Well, it's been awhile since I've seen you," said the Judge. "Now, you're practically famous around here. First, it was that knuckle ball you threw to close out the championship game. Now, it's because you saw something you wish you hadn't."

"I don't regret either," shot back Peter.

The Judge smiled. "Mark told me you were a hard nut to crack." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope and set it on the table.

"What's that?"

"It's for you."

Peter reached for it and opened it. Money spilled out. His eyes widened as he saw all the $100 bills. He looked at the Judge.

"Are you trying to bribe me?"

"I don't want to see my friend Christopher get in trouble for this. I'd like to think that you just hit your head hard and mistook him for someone else."

"I know what I saw?"

"Even with that $20,000 in your hand, you know what you saw?"

"Yes."

"That's a lot of money, son. That money can go a long way. You want to take care of your family?"

Peter's breath hitched. He fingered the $100 bills. "This must be from your savings, Judge. Because I didn't think judges made this kind of money. Unless you're getting it from somewhere else." He looked up at the Judge sharply. "You're involved aren't you? With that guy and his drug ring?"

The Judge smiled. "That's quite an accusation there. Unfortunately, your Lt. friend is starting to come to the same conclusions."

"You trying to bribe him, too?"

"No, because he won't have a case if you say nothing."

"I already told him what I know. He knows what I saw. And he's not the only one."

"But you're the one that has to testify. He can say all he wants but you're the witness. If you don't testify, then he doesn't have a case."

Peter looked down at the money.

"Think about what $40,000 could do for you and your family."

"$40,000? You just told me it was $20,000."

"There will be another $20,000 after the trial when you don't testify."

"When? What makes you so sure I will?"

"Because you care about your family."

"I can care and not do something illegal."

"But when do you think you'll ever get your hands on money like this again? Don't you think that your parents deserve so much more than they get because of what they do. They work what, at least six days a week, from sunup to sundown and all they get are those meager wages to which the use up to take care of their kids and home. How much savings do you think they have? How long are they going to have to work before they can retire?"

Peter swallowed. "My father would never take drug money. Filthy money that his son got in a bribe."

"You're smart," said the Judge. "I'm sure you could figure out a legitimate story as to how you came by all this. No one said you had to give it to anyone right now. You could wait a few years, until you're out of school, have a job. Something to make it seem more natural."

"You're crazy," said Peter. "Why can't you just be a clean judge? Why did two people have to get killed, anyway?"

"It doesn't concern you."

"You're wrong though. It concerns me because I saw it! And I saw you did it too! You think I can just sit around every day, knowing who killed those people and not say anything about it? Do you think I'm as dirty as you?"

The Judge frowned. "Let me tell you something about the world, son. No one is innocent. Those people who got killed, they were into drugs too. They were dirtier than you think I am. Everyone has a side to them you don't know. Everyone has done something that can come back to haunt them if the right people find out. You're young. You haven't come across it yet. But one day, you'll make a decision, and you'll go 'dirty', as you put it."

Peter shook his head. "No, I won't. And just so you know, there isn't dirty or dirtier. A criminal is a criminal is a criminal. It doesn't matter what you've done or haven't done. The end game should always be the same: off the streets."

"You're naïve," said the Judge. "And I was too when I was your age. I thought that there was only black and white. One day, you'll learn that everyone is gray."

"No," said Peter. "There is black and white in everyone and it's what they choose to be that makes them the color we see. And I'm not turning black."

The Judge stood up. "You just hang onto that money, son. It'll come to you." He patted Peter on the shoulder and left.

Peter looked down at the envelope and swallowed. He closed it and tucked it away in his pocket.

When his father came and picked him up, John said: "It looks like I'll be able to go to the trial tomorrow after all."

"Really," asked Peter. "Did your boss give you the day off?"

"No," said John. "I got laid off. I'm out of a job."

()()()()()()

"It was the Judge," said Neal. "He made your dad lose his job."

Peter nodded. "Though it was never proven, it can be assumed that's what happened."

"So what did you do? Did you tell him about the money?"

"No."

"You kept it?"

"I had it with me. I was going to tell him. But that—it threw me off. I knew it was my fault. I knew that if I had just told the Judge that I wouldn't testify, my dad would still have his job. So I had this $20,000 in my pocket and that there might be $40,000 in the end. Now that my dad didn't have a job, it meant more."

Neal nodded. "I understand."

"I knew you would."

"Just out of curiosity…you don't still believe that a criminal is a criminal is a criminal, do you?"

Peter sighed. "I still believe that I don't care what crime you committed, murder or mortgage fraud, you're still a criminal. However, I still think that a man can change. That he doesn't have to be a criminal forever, and that sometimes he really isn't a criminal at heart."

"Why, thank you."

"This applies to anyone."

"Sure."

"I've met many criminals, Neal. This does not solely apply to you."

"Just keep telling yourself that."

Peter rolled his eyes. "But I still believe that there is good and bad in everyone. It's the choices you make and why you make them that makes you a good person or a bad person. I've seen a lot now, where we might step into an area you like to call a 'grey area'. But I think big picture. Is it bad that we do a little crime to achieve our goal in putting the bad guy away? And if you think you have to commit that crime, is there really no other way? Is it your last resort?"

"You're a philosophical man, Peter."

"I try."

"So, what happened next?"

"Let's just say that Tuesday's headlines were quite the stir."


	6. The Trial

They didn't have to be at the courthouse until 9:00 that morning. So, Peter lay in his bed a little longer than usual for a Monday morning. He hadn't slept that well all night. This was most likely due to the $20,000 under his pillow, combined with the news that his father was out of a job. He knew now that he had gotten to the Judge. The Judge had really believed that he wouldn't accept the bribe. But he also knew how much Peter cared about his family.

Which was why Peter hadn't turned the money over to the authorities or back to the Judge.

He had thought about it long into the night, and now that about it again as he stared up at the ceiling that morning. Was it still a sin, even if you were doing it to help those you loved? If he kept this money and took the other $20,000 for not testifying, was he wrong? Was he doing the right thing?

He couldn't come up with a straight answer. Logically, keeping the money would be wrong. But emotionally, keeping the money would be right. Peter went back and forth with it. One moment, he decided that he would keep it, but the thought tore at him. So, the next moment, he would turn back to saying that he would turn it over to Lt. Cooper. But the thought of denying his family $40,000 tore at him too. At breakfast, he barely touched his food and just stared off into space. His family dismissed it has just nerves before the trial. Paul looked thoughtful himself.

Then, it was suddenly timed to go.

Marie had her boys dress somewhat nicer than usual. They had to wear slacks and a dress shirt, much to their dismay. But she insisted that they look presentable for sitting on a witness stand. Peter barely registered what he was wearing, the money tucked into his pants. He couldn't bear the thought of just leaving it around.

When they arrived at the courthouse, Peter let a deep breath out. He made his decision. He was keeping this money. He had to.

Inside, they greeted Andrew and Jimmy and their families. Then, Lt. Cooper led the boys to the front row behind the railing and behind where he would be sitting on the courtroom floor. There were a good deal of people there. Peter recognized a lot of kids from his school, some sitting behind him and other sitting behind Mark and his family. Peter recognized some local politicians; all people he had pretty much ignored up until now.

He was beginning to think more deeply. What wheels would he turn with his decision? How many people were going to be affected? How deep did the corruption go? Someone was going to hate him after this trial.

"All rise," called the bailiff.

A young judge, a woman, walked out to her post and sat down, striking the gavel to the wood and calling the court into session. Everyone was seated.

It wasn't like the movies, thought Peter. First, the Christopher Winters was put on the stand. He gave his alibi, saying that he had actually been having drinks with Judge Bardwell at the time of the shootings. To confirm his story, Judge Bardwell himself was brought to the stand to tell about his evening with Winters. He explained how the man had come over for dinner. Also there to confirm the story was a cook who worked for Bardwell and Mrs. Bardwell, who apparently had had dinner with them. An attorney from the police department cross-analyzed each of them, but nothing seemed to be uncovered.

Then, a recess was called before Lt. Cooper's witnesses would come to stand. Outside in the hall, they gathered together, pulling at their collars which were uncomfortable in the summer, even indoors. Cooper came over to them.

"How we doing boys," he asked.

"I'm ready to get this over with," said Jimmy. "I feel like we've been here for days."

"It's only been an hour," said Cooper with a smile. "Don't worry. Just go up there and say exactly what you told me. Our attorney will be asking you the questions first. Afterwards, Winters' attorney will cross-analyze. Don't be intimidated by him. Just answer truthfully, and everything will be fine."

The bailiff called for everyone to return to the courtroom. Cooper gave them another encouraging smile. He patted Peter on the shoulder and Peter felt guilt stab him in the heart. He looked back at Cooper and the Lt. saw that he was troubled.

"What's wrong, Peter," he asked.

"Nothing. Just nerves is all," Peter lied quickly. "I can barely talk in front of my class at school."

Cooper chuckled. "Don't worry. Just act like you're talking to the attorney who is questioning you. You don't have to look at anyone else."

Peter nodded. "Okay."

He took his seat beside Paul and the show went on.

Paul was first and then Andrew. They gave their accounts of what they had seen from their bikes down the street. Winters' attorney had no questions for them. Then, Jimmy went up, slightly limping, for he had discarded his crutch the day before. He also gave his account. (Fortunately, he left out the part about the possum and the mean nurse). This time, Winters' attorney came to question him, but it was brief.

"You say the car stopped directly in front of you," he asked Jimmy.

"Yessir."

"Did you look to the front window? The windshield?"

"Yessir."

"But you were unable to see anyone in the car?"

"No sir. The car lights were right in my eyes and there was a glare. I couldn't see anything."

"Okay, son, that's all."

Then, Peter was called up. It took him a moment to move. Paul nudged him and he stood up. One of the police officers opened the little gate for him and he stepped out onto the floor and walked over to the witness stand. His hands were sweating as he swore over the Bible to tell the truth.

He felt like the envelope with the money was burning his skin where it was tucked into his pants underneath his shirt. In fact, he realized just how much he was sweating. He licked his lips as the police attorney walked over to begin questioning.

First, he was required to give his account of events. When he came to the part where he had to say who he had seen in the car, his voice faltered. He coughed in an attempt to blow it off. The Judge offered him some water and he said yes. The water was fetched.

From behind the railing, Paul narrowed his eyes at his brother's odd behavior.

"Something's not right," he whispered.

Andrew and Jimmy looked at him. "What do you mean," asked Andrew.

"Look at him," said Paul, still staring at Peter. "It's like he's trying to make a decision or something." Paul noticed Peter staring intently across the courtroom and he followed his brother's gaze. He was looking right at Judge Bardwell, who leaned forward to whisper something in Winters' ear. Paul narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Lt. Cooper turned around and looked at Paul. "Is Peter okay?"

"Something's not right," repeated Paul. "Something has him worried." He again looked at Judge Bardwell. "Is there anything you can do to let us talk to him?"

"No, not while he's on the stand," answered Cooper. "He'd have to have some kind of breakdown."

Paul sighed, knowing that was very unlikely. No matter what his brother was dealing with he would never allow himself to breakdown in front of everyone. He would deal with it silently, all alone, letting it fester so that he would be battling whatever it was by himself.

"Come on Peter," murmured Paul to himself. "Whatever happened to being in this together?"

But Paul knew what had happened. The moment Peter believed his family was being threatened, he had decided to take it on alone.

Peter drank his water and looked at the judge sheepishly. "Sorry."

"That's quite all right," she replied calmly. "Now go on with your account."

Peter looked back. Judge Bardwell and Winters were smiling. He looked at Paul, Andrew, and Jimmy. They were watching with bated breath. Lt. Cooper was trying to give him an encouraging expression. His mother was sitting there, so very calm, prepared to love him no matter what. And his father…his father sat there, his hand over his wife's watching his son. He sat up straight and respectable. One leg was folded over the other with his hat resting on his knee. He was looking right at his son and Peter remembered the lecture John had given his sons that first night, nearly three weeks ago.

Peter sighed.

"When I looked up, I saw two men in the car," he said in a firm voice. "I recognized one of them. It was Christopher Winters. He was the passenger and when he saw me, he raised a gun. But then my brother yelled out and they sped away. That's when they hit Jimmy."

He looked right at Winters. He looked right at Judge Bardwell. Both looked very surprised. Peter felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest, but his stomach was still mush as he realized what he had just done. But he wasn't finished yet.

The attorney explained the jury the process of Peter identifying the two men, and he showed them pictures of Winters and the other man, Terry Dixon. Peter was shown the pictures as well, and he confirmed that those were the men he had seen in the car.

Peter continued to steal glances in Winters' and Judge Bardwell's direction. They looked worried, but were keeping it to themselves. Peter was starting to get squirmy under their scrutiny.

After the attorney was finished explaining everything to the jury, he looked at Peter and asked, "Is there anything you would like to add? Anything you might have left out?"

"Objection, Your Honor," said Winters' attorney. "The boy already made his statement."

"Overruled," replied the judge. "Questioning is not through. You will get your turn."

The attorney looked back at Peter.

Peter swallowed. Now or never. "Yessir." He saw Cooper and the other boys frown in confusion. "Yesterday, the diner I work at called me because they were shorthanded. I went in. When I got there, Judge Bardwell and another man I didn't recognize were there waiting for me. The Judge made my boss and the two cooks leave the kitchen. The other man left too—to keep them from coming back in while Judge Bardwell talked to me privately. And the Judge, he tried to bribe me. He didn't want me to testify…to protect Christopher Winters."

The room was completely silent.

Now Judge Bardwell and Winters looked completely livid. They had not been expecting this.

The attorney took a step forward. "How much did he bribe you with?"

"He gave me $20,000 yesterday," replied Peter. "And he said if I didn't testify, I would get another $20,000."

"Son," said the attorney. "You're telling me, and everyone in this room, that Judge Bardwell, that man right over there, offered you $40,000 not to testify?"

"Yessir," replied Peter, his throat dry. "I swear it." He started un-tucking his shirt.

"What are you doing," asked the attorney.

"I have it here," said Peter. He pulled out the envelope. "That's all of it, sir. I counted it last night when I got home. He handed it to me in the kitchen of the diner. I swear it."

The attorney stared at the envelope and the $100 bills that had spilled out of it on the stand. Peter looked him right in the eyes. "Sir, I swear it. He didn't want me to testify today, so he bribed me." It was as if Peter couldn't say it enough. He wanted everyone to hear.

The attorney just nodded at Peter. "Yessir, you did son. You swore on the Holy Bible that you would tell the truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God. I believe you."

Judge Bardwell jumped up. "That is an absolute lie! That boy could've gotten $20,000 anywhere—"

The judge pounded her gavel hard. "Sir, sit down or I will have you removed from the courtroom."

But now Peter jumped up. "I'm not the one lying! Lt. Cooper, you run his prints on this envelope. You can ask my boss and the cooks. The Judge was there!"

The judge pounded her gavel again. "The witness will also sit down or _he _will be removed from—".

She was cut off by Judge Bardwell. "I would never do such a thing. If Christopher Winters here is guilty, than he is guilty, friend or no friend—".

Winters jumped up. "You backstabbing son of a bitch!"

"Order! Order!" The judge continued to beat her gavel, but she had lost all order.

"You just wanted to protect me because of all _your_ deals," shouted Winters.

Judge Bardwell gasped and the yelling match went on.

Security swarmed the area and the men were dragged away, the judge calling for Judge Bardwell to be arrested and his Miranda rights read so that he come to trial for bribery. People were talking loudly about what had just occurred. Cooper walked over to where Peter was sitting down on the witness stand, leaning against the back of the chair, as if he had just run a marathon. Cooper smiled at him.

"Now see what you did," he joked. "You've opened up a whole new case."

Peter shrugged. "Just doing my job as an honorable citizen of Cayuga Heights."

Cooper just shook his head. "Why didn't you tell anyone about the money?"

"My father lost his job yesterday," said Peter. "Right after I had the conversation with the Judge. The Judge had been telling me that $40,000 would help my family a lot. And it would." He sighed. "When I learned that my father had lost his job, I couldn't get myself to let go of it. I was actually considering keeping it." He closed his eyes. "But, when I thought about it up here, all I knew was that my father had worked so hard and was doing what he did because he was an honest man. He raised me to be honest and I couldn't break his heart with lying up here. Not to mention, I would let down Paul and Andrew and Jimmy…and you Lt. You were all depending on me to tell the truth, so that we wouldn't all lose." He paused. "I don't know. Maybe we'll all die poor, but at least we'll all die honest."

Cooper clapped a strong hand on Peter's shoulder. "You're a good kid. Come on; let's get out of this place before there's a fight. I'll take you and your friends out for some pizza. Sound good?"

Peter smiled.

"Sounds great."

()()()()()()

Neal was leaning forward, his chin resting on his arms, which were on the table as he watched Peter, across from him, tell his story.

"Okay," said Neal. "So you told on the Judge, who ditched Winters, who then snitched on the Judge and now the Judge was going down?"

"Right," said Peter. He looked down at the album. The clipping there read: **Judge Bardwell Accused of Offering a Bribe to Witness Peter Burke.**

Peter flipped the page for the next day. There were two stories there: **Christopher Winters Cutting Deal with Inside Stories** and** Judge Bardwell Accused of Funding a Drug Ring** and **Drug Ring Led by Terry Dixon, Driver in Shootings**.

Neal shook his head and whistled. "It's like a giant snowball. Everyone is found guilty and now they're tripping over their feet to make deals."

"Yep," said Peter, sighing deeply. "It was quite a time. Long story short, Lt. Cooper put both of them behind bars as well as people they gave up in being connected to that drug ring. The two men who had been shot that night were rival drug dealers. It seems that this guy, Terry Dixon, was really upping his game and had come to find new territory in Cayuga Heights and Ithaca. The Judge was funding it and also getting a cut out of it. Christopher Winters, being the Judge's campaign financial advisor, was in on it as well. Needless to say, a lot of damage was done to eth drug ring and it dissipated. It just wasn't big enough to take a blow like that and then stick around. It was the case that made Lt. Cooper's career. There was another trial for the Judge, which I once again had to testify in about the bribe. But, I didn't have any trouble nailing his hide to the wall that time. In fact there wasn't any trouble."

"So it was over," said Neal.

Peter shook his head. "We thought it was."

"But you got shot," said Neal. "Revenge?"

"Yeah," said Peter. "It happened two weeks later, on the day of Paul's eighteenth birthday…"


	7. Where is Justice?

Peter sat in the diner where he worked, lemonade in hand, sitting at a table across from Lt. Cooper. He had come into town to buy the gift for Paul and pick up his check from the diner. But he ended up staying longer when he ran into Lt. Cooper there. Now, clutching a small box all wrapped up with a note taped on top, Peter sat catching up with Cooper. He hadn't seen him (except in a picture in the newspaper) since the trial on Judge Bardwell. Cooper explained that Bardwell was most likely going to receive a sentence of a decade in prison, but would most likely get out in less time than that.

"I don't get that," said Peter. "How can someone just be let out if they haven't finished their sentence?"

Cooper shrugged. "Sometimes, justice doesn't seem like enough. But trust me, it is. In this country, it always is. That's how it supposed to be. You're supposed to be fair to fellow man, and give him what he deserves when you can. If he deserves that time in jail, make sure you nail him for the crimes. But then when someone deserves something good, you should always try and give it to him. The great thing about finishing a sentence is that you get a second chance. Though people may never look at you the same way again, you're still in charge of that destiny. And people should allow a man a second chance."

"I've never heard a cop talk like that before," said Peter. Then, he chuckled. "Well, you never hear cops on TV talk like that."

"I shot and killed a man once," said Cooper suddenly. "In New York City, before my wife and I moved here. It was only my first year as a cop. After that, I swore that I would never do something I would regret. Or that I would never pass up an opportunity that I would regret. And I always regretted that I killed him."

"Well, if you had to, you had to," said Peter.

"But I didn't have to," said Cooper. "I could've shot him were it wouldn't have killed him. But I was aiming to kill. He murdered a woman and her infant son, for just no reason. And when I saw him, I ran him down, and I killed him. Just like that, I took another man's life."

"At least _you_ regret it," said Peter softly. "That makes you a good man."

"But I wish I hadn't ever made the decision in the first place," said Cooper.

"Why are you telling me this," asked Peter. "Did I do something wrong?"

Cooper laughed. "No. I guess the conversation just went this way. But it doesn't feel wrong, telling this to you. You're almost a man anyway. Leastways, you've proven yourself more than some men ever have."

Peter shrugged and looked outside. "I always thought that Cayuga Heights was different from the rest of the world. Nothing bad could ever happen here."

Cooper smiled. "Welcome to reality, Peter Burke. You'll see quickly enough that there's bad everywhere, but there's also good. You just have to look for it sometimes."

"Give it a chance to come out," asked Peter with a smile.

"Exactly," said Cooper. "Never let your guard down, but always allow room for hope and faith."

"I've never been so great about faith," confessed Peter. "I've never understood why bad things happen to good people."

Cooper shrugged. "No one knows. But you know what they say: 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.'"

"Actually," said Peter, absentmindedly. "Friedrich Nietzsche said that."

Cooper looked at Peter quizzically. "You're a smart kid."

"Not really," said Peter. "Paul tells me I never think before I act. He's always been smarter than I've been."

"Everyone's smart in their own way," said Cooper. "Everyone has their niche in the world."

Peter just smiled looked at his watch, and jumped up. "Shit—I mean shoot! I gotta get home!" He looked at Cooper. "Sorry, Lt. I always forget about the time. It's Paul's birthday today and everyone is coming over at 6. Actually, they're probably all over there by now. I was supposed to be there ten minutes ago!"

Cooper smiled and outstretched his hand. "See you later."

Peter shook it and threw on his hat, before starting for the door.

"Peter," called Cooper. Peter spun around just in time to catch the little package with Paul's gift inside.

"Thanks, Lt.," said Peter, before rushing out the door.

Cooper just shook his head while he watched Peter jump onto his bike and speed off. He wouldn't be surprised if that kid went somewhere.

Even though it was getting dark, Peter wasn't worried about getting home. He had ridden his bike at all times of the day in all sorts of weather; he knew how to get home. He was pretty sure that if someone blindfolded him he'd be able to get there…albeit a little longer than usual. This time, he rode for all he was worth, knowing that he would get quite a telling to by his mother for being late to his own brother's birthday. Peter was already running through all the excuses he could come up with. But he knew, as usual, that nothing would cut it. His mother would know he was lying through his teeth and she'd simply tell him that there was no excuse that should make him late for family.

When he turned onto his street, he didn't notice the car slowly pull off the curb and follow him.

He only noticed it when another car passed from the other direction. Peter watched them go by, and that was when he saw the car behind him. He drifted further to the right, giving the car ample room to pass. But it never did. Peter looked behind him again, this time realizing that the car was creeping slowly behind him. Peter quickly looked forward, the hair on the back of his neck rising. A chill swept through him. He was being followed.

Scenarios ran through his mind. But one thing was sure. He had to get off the road as quickly as possible. He knew he was only another two minutes from his house by now. Ahead, he could see the drive of his neighbors' house. He took a deep breath. He couldn't let his tail know what he was thinking. He kept at his same pace, not even rising from the saddle of the bike. Then, as soon as he passed his neighbors' mailbox, he stood up and started pedaling like he had never pedaled before. He made a sharp right turn into his neighbors' gravel drive. If he could just get past the trees, he could turn into their yard, ditch his bike, and run into the woods. They would never catch him there.

But he never made it those last few yards past the trees. A shot rang out. He felt the force of the bullet before the pain. The force knocked him off his bike, making him tumble over his handle bars. He hit the ground hard, and rolled into the steep ditch, landing with his face in the mud.

At first, he laid still, his adrenaline pumping like a broken dam. Then, he felt his shoulder. He could feel warm blood going down his arm and over his back. His shoulder was beginning to feel like it had been ripped off. The pain was excruciating and making him gasp. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out, afraid that his assailant would come to finish him off. Sure enough, he craned his neck some, just the slightest movement causing him to shudder with a wave a pain, and looked up. Above the sound of the running engine, he could hear footsteps. But he knew that the light was causing a glare, and only unless the man came down there, would he find Peter still alive. The shooter's silhouette appeared above him. Peter couldn't see a face, but he also saw the silhouette of a rifle. He lay as still as possible.

There was a holler, from off towards the neighbors' house. The shooter looked that way and cocked the rifle. But then, he could hear dogs barking. The shooter must've decided that was too much because he didn't even glance down at the ditch again. He just took off. Peter watched the car lights turn and the engine rev.

And then it was just him, lying in the mud.

His hat was gone. His bike lay in the gravel drive, wheels still spinning. And the little box with Paul's gift lay in the mud beside him, the wrapping paper and note smeared. With his good arm, he reached out to it. But the movement sent another wave of pain through him and it was too much. He let himself go limp and closed his eyes, hoping to get some rest, before trying to move.

He heard the dogs barking again and someone hollering; louder this time. He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't.

* * *

Five minutes prior, Marie was setting out the cake on the kitchen table. People were migrating towards the kitchen.

Paul stepped over to her. "Where's Peter?"

Marie shook her head. "Oh, that boy. He went into town to get your gift and pick up his check from the diner. He probably got distracted by something and lost track of the time."

Paul smiled. "That's Peter. But we'll wait for him, won't we?"

"That's up to you," said Marie. She reached for her camera on the counter and opened it up to make sure there was film. She shook her head. "And I asked him to go get some film from the drug store."

Their neighbor, Tom, heard the comment while talking to John. "Oh, don't worry Marie. We have plenty of film. I'll go run over and get some."

"Don't bother, Tom," said Marie. "It's not important."

"Of course it is," said Tom. "I know how you women are. You always need your pictures and this is important. Your boy is becoming a man today. I'll be right back."

He left through the side door. The neighbors had a shortcut through the little bit of woods in between their homes, so that they didn't have to go via the road all the time. Jimmy came into the kitchen, plopping party hats on everyone's head. Paul rolled his eyes.

"I don't think so," he said.

"Why not," said Jimmy with a pout. "There's one here that say 'Birthday Boy'."

"Hell no," said Paul.

"Come on, Paul," said Anne, making a puppy dog face. "Just for when we sing Happy Birthday."

"No."

"But—".

Anne was cut off when they all heard the loud report of a shotgun. The house fell silent as everyone turned their heads in the direction of the sound.

The dogs started barking from the back porch. Soon, everyone could hear Tom's dogs barking as well.

There was a collective race out the door by most of the men in the house. The older boys set out as well. Paul had never seen his father run so fast. And he wasn't sure where his father had acquired the shotgun on the way out. When they got to the end of the drive, John whistled for the dogs. Rose and Freddie were there in record time, catching up with the men as they ran around the bend in the road. As soon as they came around the bend, they saw a car turn around and speed away. No one had noticed Jimmy or Andrew on their bikes, but they flew by everyone else in their pursuit of the vehicle. Someone called after the, but they were on the warpath. The dogs ran ahead, coming up to where Tom was peering into the ditch, with his own dogs pacing and whining around him.

"It's Peter," he cried.

John pulled up short before the ditch, while Paul wasted no time jumping into the mud. He knelt over his brother.

"He's alive!"

There was a commotion.

"Someone get to the house and call the police!"

"Get the truck!"

Within five minutes, Peter was lying in the bed of a truck, Paul beside him, and his father stepping on the gas to get into town.

* * *

Two hours later the only sound that could be heard in the waiting room was the rain pattering against the window. About an hour earlier, the rain had started coming down in sheets. Outside somewhere in it, was Paul, riding around in the truck looking for Jimmy and Andrew. Also out in the rain were the police officers, trying to figure out exactly what had happened and trying to track down the shooter. But the only person that could tell them what had happened was lying in surgery at the time.

Then, the doors suddenly opened up, and Paul, Andrew, and Jimmy walked in, soaking wet. Their mothers went to them, crying and upset about them taking off like that. Andrew and Jimmy were just as upset, having believed that Peter was murdered. It was only when Paul found them that they learned that he was still alive. Then, Lt. Cooper had found them and sent them to the hospital, bearing the news that the shooter had been caught.

"It was Terry Dixon," Paul softly said. He was looking at his father. John was leaning against the window sill as he watched the night rain. "They have him in custody."

"Come sit, Paul," said Marie.

"Have you heard anything," asked Paul.

"No," said Anne, as she climbed into her brother's lap. "He'll be all right, won't he?"

"Of course," said Paul, hoping his voice sounded assuring.

Anne just nodded and let her head rest under Paul's chin.

A few minutes later, a nurse came out. She told them that Peter was out of surgery and being placed in a room. But they were to wait for the doctor to talk to them before they could go see him.

They waited anxiously for another few minutes, before a man in scrubs came out. "Peter Burke's family."

"We can all hear it," announced John from his position at the window.

The doctor nodded. "First off, he'll live. That's the good news. The bad news is that it's going to be a painful and long recovery."

There was a collective sigh of relief.

"Are you the surgeon," asked Marie.

"Yes, I'm Dr. Lagmann," he said.

"Thank you," replied Marie.

Lagmann just smiled and went on. "I'll just give you the complete rundown of the situation and then you can ask questions." He took a breath as everyone listened closely. "The bullet didn't pass through, but lodged itself between the shoulder blade and clavicle—his collar bone. The top of his shoulder blade was shattered and the collar bone was cracked. The shoulder blade and collar bone are the bones where all of the rotator cuff muscles attach. The rotator cuff also contains tendons and ligaments. All of this allows us to move our shoulder in all the different directions. A good amount of damage was done to two of the tendons and also the muscle. We spent a good amount of time stitching that up. He'll have limited movement for a while." The doctor took a deep breath. "I know this is all probably very overwhelming, but trust me, it will get better All you should worry about now is getting some rest yourselves. Peter probably won't wake for another hour or two and even then he'll be drowsy once we give him a higher dosage of pain medication."

Everyone just looked at him before John walked over and shook his hand. "Thank you. May we go see him, now?"

"Of course," said Lagmann. "But I'm going to have to say immediate family only for right now. The rest of you should just go home." They all nodded. "I'm on call all night so I'll be here when he wakes up and if you need me for anything. He's in room 122."

He gave them all another sharp nod and left.

John looked at his the others in the room, just Andrew and Jimmy's families. "Thank you all for staying. But I think Dr. Lagmann is right. There's nothing more we can do here. You guys should just get some rest. Boys…" he looked at Andrew and Jimmy. "…I'm sure you guys can stop by tomorrow to see Peter when he's awake. But you should just go on home now."

The good-byes were said and the waiting room cleared except for the Burke family. John took his wife's arm and they went down the hallway. Anne took her brother's hand. "Paul?"

"I think I'm just gonna go," said Paul.

"Why?"

"I just don't wanna see him right now."

"Why not?"

"I just can't is all. He's just sleeping right now anyway. You go on, Anne. Tell Mom and Dad that I went home."

Anne gave him a quick hug and then hurried off. Paul glanced down the hallway and then left.

* * *

Paul didn't know what he expected to find by going to the police station. He just really didn't want to go home to an empty house and that was the only place he could think of going. When he got there, he asked if Lt. Cooper was in. He was brought to the man who was bent over paperwork.

"Lt. Cooper," said Paul.

Cooper looked up, startled to find Paul standing there. He stood up quickly. "Paul, what's up?"

Paul shrugged. "I don't know. I just didn't have anywhere else to go."

"The hospital? How's your brother?"

Paul sat down. "He's out of surgery. A lot of damage was done to his shoulder. It'll be a long recovery, but they said he'll be okay in the end."

"That's good," said Cooper.

"What about this guy, Dixon," asked Paul, bitterness evident in his voice.

Cooper sighed. "I'm just getting together his paperwork. There's a lot of evidence against him. He was found in that car with a shotgun that had the gunpowder residue left on it. His fingerprints are all over the gun. And not to mention he's wanted anyway for the drive by shooting that Winters sold him out about."

"But he'll go to jail for shooting my brother, right," asked Paul.

"He's going to jail for both of those acts," said Cooper. "And he'll be in there for a long time."

Paul nodded.

"Oh yeah," said Cooper. "This was recovered at the…scene." He pulled out Peter's hat and the small gift-wrapped box that was smeared with mud. "We brought his bike back to your house."

"Thanks," murmured Paul. He noticed that the hat and box and been wiped up and dried off. He looked at the note, but whatever had been written was just a blob of ink on the paper.

"Whatever it was, he was proud of it," said Cooper. "I saw him at the diner before he left."

Paul smiled. "I think I'll wait to open it." He stood up. "Thanks, Lt. I'll be going home now."

"Stay safe."

Paul smiled at the irony, but he wasn't laughing inside.

()()()()()()

Neal looked out the window. The street lights were still on. The clock read 3:00 AM. He looked at Peter.

"Does it ever hurt still," asked Neal.

"It aches sometimes," replied Peter. "When it gets real cold, or when the weather changes. Some doctor told me something about atmospheric pressure…but it doesn't limit me in anyway. I just couldn't ever throw a curveball or put a lot of heat on a fastball like I used to."

Neal nodded. "Did you ever play baseball again?"

Peter nodded. "Well, that school year, my junior year, I acted as a manager on the school team. I coached the younger pitchers too, but wasn't capable of doing anything until that summer when summer league started up. I played then, but I never pitched again. I learned to throw with my left hand, but it wasn't the same. It just paled into comparison with what I could do with my right. I tried, my senior year. When we were training, I tried to throw, but I couldn't last very long and it was painful. So, I became an outfielder and could throw the ball in just fine with my left hand."

"No scholarship," asked Neal softly.

"No," said Peter. "Well, I didn't get an athletic scholarship. But I got an academic one to Cornell."

Neal turned the page of the album to reveal the next three articles: **Burke Shot by Dixon **and **Dixon Brought to Trial for Both Shootings **and **Athlete Maimed by Shoooting**.

"So you weren't a mathalete in college," said Neal with a smile.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Now, even if I dislike you using that term I will defend myself here. I was not _maimed_. That's some reporter making it sound more dramatic than it was. I still played intramural basketball at Cornell. We actually won our conference championship. So, I _still_ was good at math and a good athlete."

Neal smiled. "I'm sure you were."


	8. Cowboy Up

I apologize for making everyone wait so long for this last chapter. There's been a lot going on with the holidays (Mardi Gras) and today was the first day I've spent mostly at home for awhile. So, I hope you enjoy. And thanks to all my reviewers!

* * *

Before making himself known, Paul studied his brother. Peter was lying in the hospital bed with his face turned towards the window where noon sunlight lit the room. He looked tired, but younger with the sun on his face. Paul could just see the bandages around his shoulder beneath the hospital gown. His arm rested over his chest in a sling.

Paul took another step into the room, which Peter heard. He turned his head towards the door and smiled.

"Hey," he said, genuinely excited to see his brother. "Where you been?"

Paul shrugged. He pulled up a stool beside the bed and sat down. "Around. I…uh…well last night the doctor said that you were pretty much out of it so I just went home."

"Yeah, I really don't remember much about last night," said Peter. "Actually, the last thing I remember is riding my bike."

"Well, that's good," said Paul. "I can't believe Mom actually left."

"I told her to go get some lunch," said Peter. "And then Anne had to drag her away. I kept thinking she was going to burst into tears."

"Someone tried to murder you, Peter. And she's your mother."

"I know. But I'm alive." He still looked sheepish, though. "I really did scare everyone, didn't I?"

Paul nodded and looked down at the floor. "When we first found you, in the ditch, I thought for a moment you were dead. Dad couldn't even go down in there. I did. I was the one who went down to make sure you were alive. And there was just a split second…when I didn't know…" He sniffled. There was another sniffle and he looked up. Peter had tears in his eyes. "Aw shit. Here I am scaring you to death. I'm sorry, Peter. I was just scared."

"No," said Peter, wiping his eyes quickly. "It's okay. I know I was afraid, but I don't actually remember it. Does that make sense? I mean, I must've been afraid. But I don't remember it. I don't want to. Because I don't want to always be afraid."

Paul smiled. "You're okay, Peter. You're okay."

"What's that?" Peter looked down at Peter's lap where he held something folded in his hands.

"Oh," said Paul. "It's your hat. I found it on the side of the road last night." He placed it on Peter's lap.

"Thanks for cleaning it up," said Peter.

"And I found this," said Paul, holding up the gift from Peter. It still hadn't been opened. "I figured that I should open it with you. It's my first gift."

Peter smiled, obviously proud. "Well, go on."

Paul chuckled like he was a little boy again and started peeling away the paper. He revealed a cardboard box. He opened it up and pulled out a baseball. There was a signature on it.

"Mickey Mantle? Peter, how the hell did you get this?"

Peter was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "You remember how I went to New York City that weekend with Dad? About two months ago?"

"Yeah, and I was all moody because I couldn't go."

"Well, you had work."

"So naturally you get to go instead."

"Anyway…I saw that in a shop. And I bought it for you as a souvenir. Then I thought it would be better off as an eighteenth birthday present."

"So you've been hanging onto this for two months?"

"Give or take."

"Where did you hide it?"

"I put it in Dad's safety deposit box in the bank."

"So Dad knew about it too."

"Of course!"

Paul looked back down at the ball. "I guess I'll have to get a good case for it."

Peter smiled. "Guess what Mom got you?"

"You're kidding. So, did everyone know about this?"

"Just Mom and Dad."

Paul ruffled his brother's hair. "Thanks, man. This is something."

"Well, I always thought of you as something of a Mickey Mantle."

Paul snorted. "If I were that good…"

"I think you're good."

Paul looked at Peter funny. "You are too. Nobody around here can throw as fast as you."

Peter looked away. "Yeah, well, now everyone can throw faster than me. I'm done, Paul. I asked the doctor about it this morning. He said I certainly won't be throwing around a ball this school year. And I'll never throw like I did before."

Paul nodded.

"It's just…" began Peter, his tone bitter. "It's not fair. It's frustrating. I mean, I _love_ baseball. I wanted to go to college with it and be like you and now…I can't do anything."

"It's a bad break, Peter."

"Bad break…" Peter sighed. "I can't even move my arm." He sighed. "I don't want to think about it. I don't want any pity either."

"You should be pitying me," said Paul.

"Why?"

"Because I'm going off to college where I'll have to work my ass off. And you…you'll just be walking through high school still. And I'm picking up your job at the diner now, too, so I don't have a free summer anymore."

"Cowboy up."

"Excuse me."

"You heard me."

"Cowboy up? What kind of saying is that?"

"It means—".

"I know what it means. But where the hell did you learn that?"

"Some movie Jimmy and I were watching the other day."

Paul frowned. "Cowboy up," he muttered. "If I ever hear you say that again…well if you ever tell me that again I'll—".

"What? I'm pretty sure that everything that can be done to me has been done. Besides, you can't hurt me. Not while I'm wounded."

"This is ridiculous," said Paul, standing up. "I'm outta here." He started to leave, smiling when Peter called his name.

"I'm just kidding. Don't go anywhere. It's so boring here."

Paul turned around. "Don't worry, little brother. I won't leave you here."

"Thanks," said Peter, sincerely, as Paul sat down. Then, he gave him a wounded look. "Could you get me some water, please?"

Paul grinned wickedly. "Cowboy up and go without it."

()()()()()()

Elizabeth had gotten an earlier flight than she had expected and arrived home at 6AM that morning. Not wanting to wake Peter so early on a weekend, she got a cab home. She unlocked the door as quietly as she could and smiled when Satchmo greeted her. He stretched his way towards the door, obviously just waking up. He yawned as Elizabeth bent over and patted him on the head.

"Hello," she whispered. "Were you a good boy?"

She shut the door behind her and looked up. She was surprised—and then not so surprised—to see Peter sitting in the arm chair, looking oh-so-handsome with his head back and mouth wide open. She rolled his eyes when she saw the files and papers scattered over the table with a few beer bottles. Typical. Staying up to ungodly hours of the night, working. Elizabeth sighed and hung up her coat.

That was when she heard a little sigh. She turned around to see Neal on the couch.

Now that was a surprise. There was no way Neal would have let Peter keep him for so long just to work on a case. Not unless it was a really important case. But over the phone it hadn't seemed very important at all.

Neal moved in his sleep and the book on his chest slipped to the floor. Elizabeth quietly walked over and picked it up. But it wasn't a book at all. It was the photo album. Elizabeth closed it, understanding why Neal was still over and the beer bottles were all over the place. She smiled.

Then, she got to cleaning up and making breakfast. No doubt all three of her boys would be hungry when they woke up.

**THE END**


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